Rebel, Rebel
by Silver Bee
Summary: Scott just wants to have some fun
1. Chapter 1

_This was meant to be a one-shot as a birthday present for Loopstagirl, but I couldn't get it finished in time. Still, half a present is better than none, right? Will get the second half up as soon as I can. (And I **will** write a one-shot eventually!)_

_Happy Birthday, Loopsta - hope your day is better than Scott's!_

There had been better birthdays...

Which seemed particularly unfair given that this was his eighteenth, one of the great milestones. He'd finally reached the age where he was officially an adult, but, far from heralding a time of freedom and release from the restraints of childhood, Scott just felt more weighed down than ever by the demands of a future he wasn't sure he wanted anymore.

It was his father's fault, he thought - and immediately felt guilty. His father had meant well, and if he'd known his actions would have caused his son this much anguish, he'd have been devastated. But Scott knew his father had genuinely thought he would be pleased, that his decision would show him how much he was valued, respected even. That thought just made Scott feel worse. It wasn't even as if the gesture had been unexpected. Scott had always known where his future lay, he'd just assumed he might have a few years to himself first.

He'd been feeling so positive last week, looking forward to his birthday, laughing with his friends about their plans for the big celebration. But then his father had come back to town and taken him to his lawyer's office to sign the papers which would give Scott, on his eighteenth birthday, several hundred shares in Tracy Industries, along with a seat on the board as a junior executive. The days of visiting a factory or one of the offices just for the fun of it, or to sit with a book counting the minutes until his father finished whatever business had brought him there were well and truly over. Whether he liked it or not he was going to have to follow in Jeff Tracy's footsteps, entering a world where he would always be measured against his father.

"It's time you had some real responsibility," Jeff had said as he signed the various documents that were placed in front of him.

Responsibility... As if Scott hadn't had enough of that over the years. Ever since John was born he'd had responsibility. Then when the other boys had come, one after another, the pressure on him had increased: _set a good example, help your mother, look after your little brothers_... He hadn't minded, in fact he'd been proud. He loved the kids and it was no hardship to spend time with them, to hold their hands when they crossed the street, take them to the park, help them with their schoolwork... It had been fun for the most part, and if things got too much he could always count on his parents to help him out.

Then his mother had died. He'd only been eleven but his childhood had ended that day. He'd suddenly found himself taking on a large number of the duties that should have been his father's, his responsibility for his brothers greater than ever.

As if that wasn't enough for the boy to handle, there had been other demands on him. At an early age he'd become aware that being the eldest son of a national hero brought its own challenges and they only increased as the years went by. Now, more than ever, he had to be seen to be a credit to his father. Thankfully he was gifted both academically and when it came to sports. Handsome too (which, although he was far from vain, was one thing he wasn't complaining about, not when it got him so much attention from girls!).

He was popular, but he knew that there was still a fairly large group of his peers that resented him - resented all his brothers. The Tracys were too good to be true, they said. Rich, talented, good-looking... There didn't seem to be a single area where one or the other wasn't gifted. Music, swimming, art, science... if the school had an award for it there'd be a Tracy's name on there.

Scott could see why people might hate him and the charmed life he seemed to lead. There were times he hated it himself. They didn't see how the constant pressure to perform was wearing him down. He couldn't wait to get to Yale, to find his feet in a place where he was just one amongst many talented students: nothing special, no one who needed to be singled out or placed on a pedestal. Sometimes he wondered if he should even bother with college, whether he shouldn't just apply to the Air Force straight from high school. He was a good pilot, he'd soon rise up through the ranks. A degree would just allow him to move up the chain of command that much faster - responsibility again, only this time for people he wasn't related to, some of whom were bound to whisper that he'd only got where he was because he was Jeff Tracy's son. Sometimes he just wanted to steal his father's plane and fly away - anywhere, just as long as no one knew his name and he could be free for a while.

He smiled to himself. John had always been the rebellious one, but lately Scott wondered if he wasn't finally starting to follow his brother's lead. He just wanted to be normal, just for one day. No responsibility, no worrying about anyone other than himself. A day filled with nothing but fun with no thought for the consequences. Was that too much to ask?

At first breakfast had cheered him up, Grandma outdoing herself to cook all his favourites. Even Virgil had been persuaded to drag himself out of bed for the occasion. But then it had all gone downhill and Scott's bleak mood was back.

Presents... Should have been one of the highlights of the day. But first his father had given him an official-looking brown envelope containing Scott's copies of the documents he'd signed the other day. Scott opened it with a forced smile, shaking the hand his father held out as he announced that his eldest son and heir was officially an adult.

He couldn't help wondering what his mother would have bought him.

Then there was Virgil's gift. He knew straight away it was a painting. Knowing how talented the thirteen-year-old was and how hard he worked on his art, he couldn't help feeling pleased - if a little apprehensive. Virgil hadn't reached anything like the peak of stroppiness that John had at thirteen, but the one area in which he did seem to be displaying some quite spectacular teenage angst was in his art. Only last week Scott had overheard his Grandmother refusing to allow him to order fifteen different shades of black paint, only for Virgil to flounce dramatically out of the kitchen as he insisted that it was so _unfair,_ it was _art _and she simply didn't _understand_...

He needn't have worried. Virgil hadn't used that much black paint on the picture, which turned out to be a painting of the family on the front porch of their house. It was wonderful in its detail and he'd have been delighted if it hadn't been for the title of the picture which had been engraved on a small plaque on the bottom of the frame. _You'll miss us when you're gone_. Virgil was really struggling with the prospect of losing his favourite brother. Clearly the fact that Scott had finally reached the age at which he'd be leaving home wasn't going down well and even as he thanked his brother, reaching out to punch his shoulder affectionately, Virgil made a point of looking away.

Great...

John wasn't even there, having won a place on a NASA science workshop which took place that week. He'd offered to turn it down but Scott had insisted he go, knowing how much it meant to him. He'd left a present though and Scott opened the package knowing immediately it was a book. Typical John. He flicked through the pages, his heart racing at the images of various fighter jets. He couldn't help wishing he was up in the air right now.

"A book?" Gordon's disgust was obvious, but at least Virgil seemed impressed, forgetting his annoyance with his brother as he pointed out various pictures he'd love to copy onto canvas.

Passing the book over to Virgil, Scott found himself wishing John was around for him to share his feelings with. John was the only person he could confide in, the only one who could understand what he was going through. He might not be able to cheer him up, having a lot of the same concerns himself, but he'd happily share the misery. He turned to Gordon.

"So what did you get me?"

"Socks."

"Thanks," Scott said, pretending to be disappointed. He was smiling inside though. Any moment now Gordon would give him his real present. Sure enough, a few moments went by before Gordon laughed and handed over another, much larger package.

Which also contained socks.

"Grandma's always complaining about you losing your socks," Gordon explained. "When you go to Yale you won't have her to look after you. So I thought I'd be sensible for once and give you something useful."

"You really shouldn't have." Scott didn't even bother pretending to be pleased, casting a rueful look at his grandmother. She didn't notice, too busy smiling at her second-youngest grandson. She slipped the final pancake - which Scott had been about to take for himself - onto Gordon's plate, as she murmured her approval of his choice.

Alan gave him a computer game - the latest motor racing challenge, which Scott had little interest in and which he knew his brother would insist on showing him how to play and end up spending all day on himself.

Grandma had been thinking practically about college too. Her contribution to the pile of gifts was a silver fountain pen inscribed with his name. Scott thanked her even as he wondered when he was ever going to use it. Maybe in twenty years time when he sat at a desk in his office at Tracy Industries, signing multi-million dollar contracts before heading off for yet another business lunch...

"So, what's the plan for today?" Jeff asked. "There's still time to arrange a party if you want it."

He'd been a little surprised when Scott had refused his original offer. He'd even suggested sending his mother and the three youngest boys away for the night, just so that Scott could feel more at ease, but his son had still refused, as much as he appreciated the gesture.

"It's okay, Dad, really. I've got plans with the guys." He did appreciate his father's offer and he knew the man would have done everything he could to ensure they had a good time. But it would never have worked - not unless Jeff had taken himself off along with the others, and he'd never have agreed to that. It wasn't his fault, but there was something about the presence of a world-famous space hero and billionaire that made his friends nervous, despite his father's efforts to make them feel comfortable. They'd never be able to have as good a time at the Tracy house as they could have elsewhere, not on an occasion like this where they'd want to go a little wild. Instead Scott had taken Grandma up on the offer of cooking an early dinner for some close friends before they went off into town.

"You're not planning on doing anything reckless are you?" Jeff asked, mindful of some of the stories he'd heard from other fathers whose sons had turned eighteen this past year. Not that he believed his sensible, dependable son would really do anything he shouldn't. He might be an adult now but he was still below the legal drinking age, not to mention being well-known in the town as the son of the great Jeff Tracy. No, there would probably be a few illicit beers somewhere - and Jeff really didn't want to know what else Scott and his friends had planned - but Scott would be alright. He was the reliable one, after all.

Scott assured his father he'd be perfectly sensible - wasn't he always? - then made his way back to his room. Virgil was waiting for him, sprawled across his bed, half-asleep.

"Wake up,Virg," Scott insisted, shoving his brother off the bed. "I need to get changed."

Virgil shook himself awake. "Here," he said, holding out an envelope. "It's from John. He told me not to give it to you in front of Dad."

Scott took it curiously. It wasn't a letter - he could feel something thick inside. He couldn't help grinning. Looked like John had really done it.

"Thanks, Virg." He walked over to the door and held it open.

Virgil's face darkened. "Why can't I stay?"

"Because you can't. Now get moving."

Virgil stayed where he was. "Relax, Scott, I already know what's in there."

"Really?" Scott doubted it.

"Yeah. Fake ID's for you and your friends."

Scott's face fell and after a quick glance down the hallway which, to his utter relief was empty, he shut the door and advanced on his brother. "How do you know?"

"I helped him."

"You helped him?" Scott wasn't happy. John getting involved in something like this was one thing - he was sure it was only going to be a matter of time before John got himself in trouble. The usual restrictions of security and privacy didn't seem to bother him, whether it was hacking into someone else's computer or faking some documentation. Oh, Scott had tried to be the dutiful older brother, to talk him out of doing any more of this kind of thing, but it had never worked. One area where he was a failure, he thought - and for some reason it actually felt good to know that he wasn't completely perfect. John certainly wasn't - but he had always been mature beyond his years and he knew the risks he was taking. But that was his choice. Scott wasn't going to have Virgil dragged into it.

"He couldn't fake the signatures," Virgil told him. He was obviously proud that he'd been taken into his elder brother's confidence.

Scott ripped open the envelope. The four ID cards which fell out looked absolutely genuine. How John had got hold of the cards themselves he didn't want to know. Sure enough his signature was perfect and from what he could remember of his friends', theirs too looked real.

"Useful talent," was all he could say. "Do this kind of thing often?"

Virgil grinned. "Sometimes. Just as well Gordon's teachers never think to call Dad or Grandma to check why he has so much trouble getting his homework in on time."

Scott glared at him and smacked him across the head, partly because he was genuinely concerned about Virgil's actions, but mostly - if he was honest with himself - because here he was on his eighteenth birthday trying to sort out yet another problem with one of his brothers. Surely just for today he could absolve himself from responsibility for them and have some fun? One day off, that was all he wanted!

"You have to stop it. Notes to teachers are one thing but this is forgery. You'll get yourself in trouble."

The dark look was back on Virgil's face. "Yeah, well, you won't be around to see it, will you?"

"Virg!"

"If you're so offended then don't use the ID's. I'll burn them." Virgil held out his hand.

Scott looked at him, then back at the cards. He and his friends had been planning this night out for weeks. Without the ID's it would be ruined. Why did Kansas have to have such stupid laws anyway? It was 2057 for heaven's sake!

Virgil noticed his hesitation and laughed. "Didn't think so. Have fun with your friends, Scott. Don't worry about me."

Then he was gone, leaving Scott to sit on his bed wondering what kind of chaos would ensue when he'd left for college - and whether he'd still be expected to sort it all out. He had the feeling he probably would.

After that shaky start the day did get better. Various friends called round with cards and gifts. Then there was the unveiling of the birthday cake, made by Grandma, of course: eighteen candles dotted around a magnificent drawing in icing of Scott himself at the controls of a fighter plane. He recognised the artist's hand immediately, even though he'd never seen him express himself in this particular medium before.

"She made me _ice a cake_!" Virgil told him in disgust. "I wouldn't have done it for anyone else. And I'm never doing it again, either! She made me wear an _apron_, Scott!"

Scott laughed, his earlier annoyance with Virgil forgotten. It was good to know he wasn't the only one to suffer for the sake of his brothers sometimes.

He'd had a serious talk with John that afternoon. His brother failed to share his concerns about Virgil, insisting the boy could take care of himself. "Don't feel you have to be responsible for us all the time, Scott," he said, before cutting the call short as he was called to another class. "Have fun tonight and if you get caught and they torture you..."

"I'll tell them it was all your fault!" Scott finished, laughing as he ended the call.

Then it was time to change before Greg, Isaac and Rick arrived. After one of Grandma's finest meals and the decimation of the cake it was time to go.

"No curfew tonight," Jeff announced. "Enjoy yourself, son. Do you boys need a lift?"

"No thanks, Dad. Greg's driving."

Jeff couldn't help the words of advice which slipped out as he escorted them to the door, especially those directed at Greg. He stopped himself delivering a full-blown lecture at the sight of Scott's rolling eyes. "Okay, boys - sorry, _men._" He couldn't help smiling as Scott's expression turned to one of satisfaction. "Off you go. Have fun."

He stood at the door and watched Greg drive sedately down the drive and turn out into the road. Any relief he might have felt disappeared when he heard the engine roar and a squeal of tyres, accompanied by whoops of joy as the car picked up speed.

"No curfew?" Grandma asked when Jeff returned to the living room. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Not really," Jeff smiled. "But Scott does. He'll be fine."


	2. Chapter 2

_This story was going to be in two parts but Scott's decided he wants a bit more attention. Two chapters to go after this. Sorry for the delay in updating - I'll get the next part up as soon as I can. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those I can't reply to._

By the time they pulled up at the Roadhouse Scott was ready for some fun. He wasn't planning on ending the night there, but it was the perfect place to start. He didn't even need John's fake ID to get him inside. This place didn't care how old you were - within reason - as long as you could pay for your drink and you didn't cause any trouble. Quite how they got away with it no one knew, but they did. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the beer was more than likely watered down and the owner wouldn't stand for any nonsense - something that the presence of his two muscle-bound sons made quite clear as they stood at the door eyeing the crowd. The place was an institution in the town, had been for what seemed like forever. Scott knew his father had frequented it when he was younger. Grandma would sniff disapprovingly whenever they drove past it, but his father would go misty-eyed for a moment, smiling wickedly at some old memory which he'd flatly refuse to share with his sons no matter how much they begged.

The place was packed. Word had got round that it was Scott's birthday and the drinks were on him - though why that should be the case when it was _his_ birthday seemed a little unfair to the eldest Tracy as he elbowed his way to the bar. He guessed that it was just another consequence of having a rich father and for a moment he felt low again, wondering how many of these people were here because they actually liked him. He'd certainly never met some of them before, but he could hardly refuse to buy them a beer. Not when his father was a billionaire...

"You okay?" Rick yelled over the thumping music. "You look a bit down."

"Fine." Scott forced a smile. "I hate queuing, that's all."

Five minutes later he managed to get served and a few minutes after that he found himself the centre of a group of friends, most of the hangers-on having disappeared once they'd got their drinks. A few still lingered, including Rick's cousin Brandon and his friends, none of whom Scott - or Rick himself for that matter - had much time for. The sooner they got away from them, the better. It wouldn't be long, he thought. Once they realised there was no more free beer they'd be on their way. It didn't work out that way, though. It turned out that Brandon had just started work at Tracy Industries' local factory. He couldn't help making the most of the opportunity to befriend his boss's son, clearly hoping Scott would put in a good word for him. Although Jeff Tracy paid slightly above the usual going rate, Brandon managed to whine pathetically about how hard it was to make ends meet and how useful a pay rise would be - at least he did until Isaac had enough and told him to shut up. Brandon clearly didn't like it, but he did as he was told, though he wasn't perceptive enough to disappear and leave them alone.

With Brandon silenced, Scott was finally feeling free from all the pressures which had been plaguing him that day. But then he caught sight of Greg, an almost empty bottle of beer in his hand. As Scott watched, he downed the rest, looked over and raised the bottle with a smile.

"Relax, Scott. I'm only having the one. It'll be fine."

Scott considered this for a moment then let it go. He'd keep an eye on Greg, though - another worry in a day which was supposed to be free of them - because he had big plans for tonight, and they didn't include dying in a car crash. You could only take irresponsibility so far, he thought, before turning back to the group of girls he'd been talking to.

It was unusual for Scott to be single. Since he'd turned fifteen he'd had a series of girlfriends, some lasting longer than others. The last one, a girl he'd really started to care about and the one he'd expected to be celebrating with tonight, had turned out to have more interest in his money than anything else and Scott had broken up with her just a couple of days ago. He knew that hadn't helped his mood. It wasn't as if it was the first time that kind of thing had happened and it was another reason for going somewhere different tonight. He wanted to meet a girl who didn't know who – or what – he was and who just liked him for himself.

"Look, there's Jay!" Greg waved across at a boy who'd just come in and was looking round the bar for them.

"What are you calling him over for?" Scott hissed. Jay had moved to the town when his father had taken on the job of administrator at Jeff's factory. The man had previously worked at Tracy Industries in New York but had been forced to take on a less stressful role after a heart attack. Mr Wallis was pleasant enough, but few people had anything good to say about his son. Scott wondered if the day really was out to get him. He and Jay had never got along and now he was going to have to spend his birthday with him. As if Brandon's presence wasn't enough for anyone to deal with...

Greg smiled nervously. "I told him he could come with us."

"You did _what_? Why?"

"Because I've been trying to get his sister to go out with me for weeks now, remember? I thought he might put in a good word for me. Anyway, I'm driving, aren't I? I'm not going to have a whole lot of fun. Let me get something out of tonight, Scott."

Scott wasn't happy but there was at least a glimmer of hope. "How's he going to get in? John didn't do him any ID."

"He's got his own. He says all the big city boys have some."

"Great." Jay was always badmouthing the backward country boys he believed them all to be. He did have an extremely attractive sister, though, and Scott couldn't blame Greg for going all out to get to know her. He just wished his friend had stopped to consider his feelings before issuing the invitation.

"Don't worry, Scott. Once we get to the club you'll be too busy with the girls to worry about Jay. I'll keep him away from you, I promise."

"You're going to The Dungeon then?" Brandon asked, having overheard Greg's last comment.

The Dungeon was a club on the outskirts of the next town. It had acquired legendary status amongst Scott's classmates and attempting to gain entry had become something of a rite of passage. Few had managed it but it was something everyone had to try.

"Sure are," Rick said. "We're guaranteed to get in. You should see the ID's we've got."

Scott shook his head at his friend. But Rick had already pulled his ID out and was showing it round.

"Nice work," Brandon whistled, comparing the card to his own, legitimate, ID before passing the fake one over to his friends. "Where'd you get it?"

"Scott's br- Ow!" Rick broke off as his eyes widened in pain. "Scott, why'd you kick me?"

Scott glared at him. How Rick couldn't guess that he didn't want his brothers' handiwork lauded amongst the likes of Brandon and his gang, he didn't know, but then his friend had never been the brightest, even when he hadn't had a couple of drinks.

Brandon was regarding him curiously and Scott knew he wasn't going to give up.

"Scott's birthday present to us," Greg said quickly. "Don't ask how, but I guess Scotty can afford it, right?"

Scott wasn't too pleased at this, but it got John and Virgil off the hook. At least he hoped it did. Most people seemed to have accepted the statement, but Brandon didn't look entirely convinced.

It came as something of a relief when, five minutes later, Brandon disappeared, though not before slyly reaching out to snaffle one of the beers which were lined up ready for Scott and his friends. Jay wandered off to talk to a girl and Scott could finally relax.

Half an hour later Greg checked his watch and leaned over to tell his friends they'd need to get moving if they were to get to the club in time. Scott rose to his feet, more than ready to make a move. There was no sign of Rick and he and his friends scanned the crowd in search of him.

"We're in trouble!" It was Isaac who'd spotted Rick and he pointed over to the far corner of the bar where Brandon was leaning threateningly over a clearly nervous Rick. The three of them immediately headed over, not caring who they barged out of the way as they did so. Scott thought he should have expected this - Brandon wasn't the type to just back off, not when there was the possibility of making a little money - or a lot of trouble. Neither of which would be good for him or his brothers.

Brandon had handfuls of Rick's shirt bunched up in his hands and he'd practically lifted the shorter boy off his feet as he pulled him up so that they were practically nose to nose. Rick was shaking his head frantically, but it seemed clear he was on the point of cracking.

"Leave him alone!"

Brandon had his back to Scott and hadn't seen him coming, but he jumped a mile when Scott yelled in his ear. His hands uncurled and he let go of Rick as he realised he had no chance against the other three. Rick cast his friends a look of utter relief as he steadied himself and straightened his rumpled shirt.

"Thanks guys," he said, edging away from Brandon. "Let's get out of here."

Scott hesitated as his friends started to walk away, looking dubiously at Brandon.

"Come on, Scott," Greg said, pulling him away. "We don't need any trouble, not tonight." _Not with fake ID's in our pockets which are going to cause all sorts of problems for you and your brothers if anyone finds out_ was the message he was clearly sending Scott as he looked his friend straight in the eye.

"Better listen to your friends." Brandon smiled. "Never mind though - maybe I'll see you later. You still heading for The Dungeon?"

"Maybe," Scott muttered.

"I'll let Ricky's dad know where to find him, then. Got to keep my boy out of trouble, don't I?"

Rick winced. "Sorry, guys. Look, I'll go home, there's no need for your night to be spoiled. Here -" he took his ID out and went to hand it to Scott, only for Brandon to snatch it away from him.

"Give it back!" Rick tried to grab it but Brandon held it high above his head. He turned his attention to Scott.

"You know, I'm surprised you're risking it, Scott. Your dad wouldn't be too pleased if he knew."

Scott eyed him suspiciously. "And how would he know?"

Brandon held up his hands, the picture of innocence. "Not from me. Although if you were to tell me who did this for you, it might make it easier for me to keep quiet." He waved the ID card just out of Scott's reach.

Scott wanted to bang his head against the wall. Here he was again having to get his brothers out of trouble. He'd had enough. What he really wanted to do was punch Brandon. But Scott was too sensible to let his instincts take over and fortunately he hadn't drunk enough to stop him thinking straight. He forced his mind to start working and wondered what would make Brandon back down. It didn't take long to work it out.

He stepped up to eyeball the older man. "Go ahead and call my father then, Brandon. What's he going to do? I'm eighteen. You know what he gave me for my birthday? A seat on the board of Tracy Industries. As of today I'm your boss. It's not a good idea to upset me."

Scott had to admit the sense of power he felt as Brandon faltered was far more intoxicating than the alcohol he'd consumed. Maybe there was something to be said for being the boss's son after all.

"Yeah," Isaac chimed in. "I guess if you turn up to work on Monday and find yourself sweeping floors you'll know who to thank. If you've still got a job, of course."

Scott guessed his friend didn't know too much about employment law, but it sounded good and it looked like Brandon took the threat seriously because he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, handing the card back to Rick before clapping Scott on the shoulder.

"It was just a joke. All forgotten, now, right?"

Scot said nothing, glaring after him until he'd disappeared into the depths of the bar. He had a feeling it was far from forgotten.

"You coming?" Rick asked.

Scott hesitated. The night really wasn't going the way he'd planned. Maybe he should just admit defeat, accept the day had been a washout and go home. Something told him his luck wasn't going to change any if they made it into The Dungeon. Maybe they should just stay where they were and he'd destroy the ID's in the morning. After all, without evidence what could Brandon do?

"I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't-"

His friends weren't having any of it.

"Oh come on, Scott. Brandon's a bully but he's a coward. He won't say anything. He doesn't know about John or Virgil." Rick was a lot more confident now Brandon was out of the way.

Scott swung round to his friend. "You know what Virg did?" This just got better and better - or worse and worse, depending on how you looked at it.

"Yeah. We had to give him copies of our signatures. You should have seen how thrilled the kid was to be doing something to help you out. I wish my brother idolised me like that."

Scott had no answer to that. He slumped against the wall in defeat. "If you breathe a word of this to Brandon..."

"I won't. Come on, Scott, let's get out of here."

They nearly made it out of the Roadhouse without any more trouble. Nearly... Just as they approached the door, Jay appeared.

"Hey, where do you guys think you're going?"

They'd all forgotten about him and Scott would have been more than happy to keep walking, but Greg pulled them all to a halt, breaking into a not entirely convincing explanation of how they'd been looking for him without success and so decided to check outside.

"Sure," Jay said. He was clearly debating making an issue of it, but then seemed to think better of it. "So, you think this place can live up to the kind of club I used to go to?"

"Oh I doubt it," Scott muttered. "How could we possibly match up to those fine places they have in New York?"

He hadn't expected his words to be audible, especially given the loud music that still came pounding through the jukebox, but Jay apparently had exceptionally good hearing - must be another thing they did better in the city, Scott mused even as he mentally kicked himself for letting his feelings show.

"Got a problem, Scott?" Jay asked.

Still wound up after the confrontation with Brandon, Scott was tempted to tell him that he did indeed have a problem. But catching Greg's eye and seeing his pleading expression he swallowed his words and gave in.

"No, just having second thoughts about The Dungeon. Maybe we should stay here, guys. I'm not so sure about these ID's. I wouldn't put it past Brandon to call the cops on us."

"Oh come on, Scott." Jay wasn't impressed. "Are you losing your nerve? If you're not man enough for this, tell us now. That's the trouble with being one of the good guys – you've got no idea how to have fun. Why don't you go back home? I don't know how they're coping without you for a night, anyway. I mean, someone needs to tuck the youngest brat into bed and check the other one hasn't been kidnapped again-"

That was as far as he got before he found himself shoved against a wall with Scott's hands at his throat.

"Whoa!" Greg and Isaac did their best to separate the pair. "Back off, Scott! Jay, that was out of order."

"Problems?" The imposing figure of Jim the bouncer loomed in front of them before Scott could so much as raise a fist.

"No. Our friend is just going home." Greg looked pointedly at Jay. "Aren't you?"

Jay looked at them in disgust. "Looks that way. Guess I'll have to spend the evening with my sister. Too bad I won't have anything good to tell her about the guys in this pathetic town."

"I was born and raised in this town, Mister," Jim told him, grabbing him by the shoulders and propelling him to the door where one good shove sent him sprawling in the dirt.

Isaac and Rick laughed - they felt exactly the same way as Scott about the boy. Scott wasn't laughing, though. No one made fun of his family - or the responsibility he felt towards them. All the frustrations of the day had come back tenfold and all he could think about was how good it was going to feel to work that frustration out on Jay.

He was out of the door and heading for Jay before his friends realised what was going on. They ran to catch up with him.

"Scott, leave it!"

"He's not worth ruining your birthday for!"

"He's not going to get away with that!" Scott refused to be pacified.

"Okay, you want to hit him, go ahead. Then when the cops come you can explain all about the ID's. And you can be the one to call your father. Or your grandmother."

"Isaac's right. You don't want to get John and Virgil into trouble, do you?"

The last comment got through to Scott and he stopped dead, turning to look at Greg. His friend smiled as he shook him by the shoulders. "Come on, leave him for another time - if you still think he's worth it I'll help you. I've got no chance with Gemma now anyway. Let's get going, huh? We've got a fair drive ahead of us if we're going to The Dungeon."

Scott took a deep breath and nodded. All his doubts about going to the club had disappeared. He wasn't going to let Jay think he'd won.

"Okay. Let's move."

Rick and Isaac slowly relaxed their tight grip on his arms until they were certain he wasn't going to go for Jay again. Jay, trying to look as though he wasn't scared but not quite succeeding, picked himself up and, with a final sarcastic, "Happy Birthday, Scott!" made a run for the safety of his car.

"Alright?" Rick asked.

"Yeah." Scott still sounded tense, but he allowed his friends to lead him to Greg's car.

It was a relief to everyone when they were on their way.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm discovering how confusing it is writing two stories at once! Thank you to all who reviewed and alerted, it means a lot. Bee _

They spent the first part of the thirty minute journey in silence, Greg finally turning the radio on in an effort to ease the tension. Scott sat sullenly in the back wondering why his recent behaviour was so out of character. Why had he snapped like that? Jay had been out of line, but Scott had heard worse and walked away without a second thought. Not that he was a coward, far from it. He'd been in plenty of fights but he'd rarely thrown the first punch and he'd never come so close to hitting someone without believing he'd be able to stop. He wondered if Jay knew how lucky he'd been. It wasn't so much the comment about Virgil's kidnapping, it was the fact that he'd inadvertently picked up on all the anxieties Scott had been experiencing. How had he even known so much about the Tracys? He was a newcomer to the town, after all. Was Scott's loyalty to his family a common topic of conversation? Worse still, was it seen as a joke? Other boys his age didn't seem to care so much about their kid brothers. Sure they loved them - well, okay, _tolerated_ them in some cases - but they didn't take such a hands-on role as Scott. Then again, they hadn't lost their mothers. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing he could forget all about it, just for a while.

He suddenly became aware the car had stopped. Greg had turned round to look at him, clearly worried that he might have ruined Scott's evening.

"You okay?" he asked. "Look, I'm sorry about Jay. I shouldn't have invited him."

"I'm alright," Scott told him. "It wasn't your fault." After all, Jay had tagged along with them before and Scott had managed to put up with him. Greg couldn't have realised how frustrated he'd been feeling all day - not wanting to put a damper on the party mood, Scott hadn't confided in his friends. He wondered how they'd react if he told them he was fed up of his golden existence. Somehow he didn't think they'd understand. Rick's family had lost everything when their house had burned down last year and Isaac's father had recently been diagnosed with leukaemia. He doubted they'd have a whole lot of sympathy for his plight, however much they might express concern for his current depression. Scott knew he didn't have it badly, not really. He just needed a break from his usual routine, he decided. Not for ever - he wasn't going to turn his back on everything he valued - but just for one night. Maybe he needed to go wild for a while, relieve the stress and pick up the reins again tomorrow.

"It's fine," he said, and this time he sounded like he meant it. "Forget it, Greg. Tonight I'm not going to worry about Jay or anyone else. I want to have some fun."

"You're sure?" Greg hesitated before starting the engine.

"I'm sure." Scott leant forward and turned up the volume on the radio as Greg set off. Within minutes the four friends were singing along enthusiastically. Scott might have forced himself to look as though he was enjoying himself at first, but the closer they got to their destination the more genuine his smile became until he was actually feeling pretty good.

When they finally arrived, there was a last-minute panic over the ID cards, Isaac having heard that the bouncers on the door of The Dungeon were pretty thorough.

"Rick's the problem," he said. "He barely looks eighteen, let alone twenty-one."

Rick looked anxious for a minute. "You don't think they'll let me in? They can't fault the ID."

"You'll be fine," Greg told him. "Just be ready for any questions they ask you if they want you to prove your age."

"Like what?"

"Um... who was President in the year you were born?"

Rick looked at him blankly. Scott laughed, feeling more relaxed than he had all day, supplying the answer and commenting that poor Rick probably didn't know who was President today, let alone twenty-one years ago.

"When were you born?" Isaac asked.

"I know this," Rick announced. "2042!"

"2042?" Scott cuffed him lightly across the head. "That makes you fifteen. It's 20_36_, you idiot. You add three years to your _age_, not the year you were born."

"Math never was his strong point," Isaac pointed out as Rick sulkily tried to repair the damage Scott had done to his carefully styled hair."

"Yeah, well it's going to need to be tonight. Rick? 2036, got it? You mess this up and we're leaving you outside."

"You wouldn't."

"Sure we would," Isaac told him.

"Okay, you probably would. Scott wouldn't ditch me, though."

Scott flung an arm around his shoulders. "Rick, tonight - just tonight, mind - I would. So get it right, huh?"

Rick looked at Scott for a moment, clearly unsure whether to believe him. Something about his friend's expression decided him because he shot him a quizzical look before breaking into a smile.

"You would, wouldn't you? Who'd have thought it? Scott Tracy forgetting his friends and looking after number one."

"And about time too," Greg announced, noticing Scott's expression change to one of uncertainty. "Come on, guys, The Dungeon awaits."

It took them a while to find a parking space, then they had to trek a couple of blocks to the club. It wasn't the warmest of nights and a few stray raindrops hit them as they walked along.

"We'll be inside in a minute," Greg promised, but as they turned a corner and saw the line of people waiting to get in, it became clear that wasn't exactly true. They had to queue for a good ten minutes, though since the rain held off this wasn't too much of a hardship since it allowed them to get talking to a group of girls who stood in front of them. Scott and his friends couldn't help the growing feeling of excitement as they got nearer. The dull throb of a bass guitar was evident and, every time the doors opened to let someone in or out, the whole band could be heard, the noise deafening even from this distance.

Just before they got to the front of the queue, the doors were flung open and a couple of bouncers manhandled an apparently drunk man out of the club. He clearly objected to this, trying to push the bouncers away in order to get back inside. The feeble punch he threw at one of them might not have had any impact, but the blow he received in return certainly did and he lay stunned on the ground for a moment before staggering to his feet, wiping a hand across his nose and staring at the blood which was smeared across his fingers. Only then did he admit defeat and slink away. The bouncers watched him go before turning to those queuing and eyeing them suspiciously for a moment before allowing a few more people inside.

"Did you see that?" Greg's eyes had lit up in excitement. "Isn't this great?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed, forcing himself to ignore the little voice that was asking him what he thought he was doing in a place like this, where trouble was unlikely to be far away - especially after all the disasters the day had brought so far. But then they reached the door and he slipped his hand into his pocket to reach for his ID card. _Last chance to back out, _he thought to himself, and waited for the little voice to give him all the reasons why he should. To his surprise it was silent. He couldn't help feeling a sense of exhilaration at the thought that for once he wasn't going to be careful, sensible... _boring_, he thought. Yes, that was the word he was looking for. But not tonight. Tonight Scott Tracy was going to rebel - and he was going to enjoy it.

After all the fuss over the ID's they were waved through without question. Rick couldn't help expressing his disappointment, having been muttering "2036" under his breath for the last ten minutes, but fortunately his words were lost in the noise from the band.

They took a moment to take in the scene. The people they knew who'd been here before hadn't been exaggerating. The place was wild, the dance floor packed and the queue for the bar some eight people deep.

Drinks finally in hand, they found a place to stand, taking photos of each other on their phones, needing proof of their success in getting in to show to everyone back at school. Five minutes later they'd got talking to some more girls and Scott had forgotten all about Brandon, Jay and all the other things which had been worrying him that day.

An hour later and Scott felt better than he had since he'd turned eighteen. Greg's prediction had been accurate and he'd met plenty of girls. None of them knew who he was - the name 'Tracy' wasn't mentioned, a simple, "Hi, I'm Scott," along with a dazzling smile, all that was needed to get the chosen girl's attention. After several drinks Scott was finally deciding that the night hadn't been completely wasted after all. He just needed to find the right girl and then everything would be perfect. Sure, he'd met plenty of pretty girls so far, but they all seemed to lack what he was looking for. He wasn't even sure he knew what that was; just that he'd know it when he found it.

Isaac certainly seemed to have found what he was looking for and was on the dance floor with a girl he'd latched onto within minutes of arriving. Scott watched them for a few moments then let his eyes roam around the room.

It wasn't long before he spotted her. If he'd wanted something different then the girl at the bar was it. For a start she was older than him - mid-twenties to be sure, no fake ID for her. Then there was the way she was dressed. The Dungeon wasn't a dressy place by any means and the ripped jeans and tee shirt were fairly standard wear, but the tee shirt bore an image of some picture by one of Virgil's favourite artists. Scott had never been able to see what his brother found so appealing about the painter - he was racking his brains trying to think of the man's name - but for the first time he could see the attraction. Unless it was the way the girl filled out the tee shirt... Maybe that was it.

He caught her eye and smiled, hoping she liked younger men. When she smiled back he took it as an invitation, grabbed his drink and with a muttered, "See you later," to his friends, made his way over to her.

Fifteen minutes later and Scott finally felt as though the trip had been worthwhile. They'd talked for a while - she worked in a gallery in the town and he'd impressed her with his knowledge of art - _Thanks, Virg, _he thought, grateful for all the times his brother had forced him to listen as he raved over some obscure artist or other, showing him images he could often make little sense of until his brother explained them to him. So Jay had laughed at his devotion to his family? He wouldn't be laughing if he could see him now.

Marianne seemed as taken with him as he was with her. She was older than him of course but he'd claimed his age as twenty-two, just two years below hers, and she hadn't had a problem with that. Talking had led to dancing and now, as they moved closer on the dance floor, Scott was wondering what his next step should be. He didn't need to worry however, as Marianne took his hand and led him over to a door marked _Staff Only._

"I used to work here," she told him. "Want to go somewhere more private?"

Scott certainly did. But just as they were about to go, Greg appeared from nowhere, grabbing Scott's arm and pulling him back.

"What?" Scott snapped, shrugging him off. It wasn't like his friend to be so prudish. He'd normally be the one disappearing with some girl he'd just met.

"Rick's sick." Greg pointed across to a wall where a greenish-looking Rick was propped up, eyes half-closed and chin lolling against his chest.

Scott groaned. "How much has he had?"

"Too much. Look, I'm going to take him home. I'll come back for you later."

Scott looked back to where an amused Marianne stood beside the door, one hand on the handle. Then he looked at Greg, knowing his friend faced an extra hour of driving and wondering if he should offer to go with him. Usually he would, and Greg knew it, but it was his birthday, for heaven's sake. It had been a nightmare of a day and he was just about to have a little fun. All day he'd resented the responsibilities his life threw at him. His friends had encouraged him to forget it all for a while, to only think about himself. So...

"You sure you don't mind?"

If Greg was surprised he hid it well. There was just the faintest of hesitations before he shook his head. "Call it a birthday present. I can see why you don't want to leave." He smiled at Marianne who rolled her eyes before looking at Scott again, tapping her fingers impatiently on the door handle.

"Any other time I would. But..."

Greg clapped him on the back. "Have fun," he said. "If you see Isaac tell him what's happened."

"Where is he?"

"With that girl somewhere. You lot owe me another night out. And one of you can drive."

"You got it." Scott would be quite happy to come back here. All thoughts of destroying the ID's had gone. "Drive safely."

"I will. See you later."

Scott watched as Greg took hold of an unsteady Rick and steered him towards the door. A soft hand on his shoulder startled him and he smiled as Marianne whispered something in his ear.

"It's your birthday?" she asked as she opened the door.

"Yeah."

"Well, we'd better do something to celebrate..."

And so it was that five minutes later they were locked in a store room with Scott thinking that this might be one of the best nights of his life after all. He'd never done anything like this before - all the girls he'd been with had been actual girlfriends. There had been movies and dinners, interviews with strict fathers and a lot of hesitant fumbling before anything serious happened - but then Marianne wasn't the usual sort of girl he went for.

But once again Scott's luck was out. Things were just getting interesting when the pounding of the music stopped all of a sudden and muffled shouts could be heard.

Scott and Marianne broke apart for a moment.

"What's going on?" Scott asked, more than a little breathlessly.

Marianne listened for a minute before picking up where she'd left off. "Probably another raid. Happens from time to time. Don't worry, they don't usually come down here."

Scott thought about this for a moment before pushing her hands away and reaching for his shirt. "They're looking for me!"

"What? Why would they be looking for you?" Marianne prised his hands away from his buttons.

Scott debated whether to go through the whole _Brandon and/or Jay wanted to get back at me and this is how they've done it_ scenario before deciding they didn't have time.

"I got in on a fake ID. If the police find it I'm in trouble. Not just me, but my brothers, too."

This time Marianne let go of him. "Fake ID? How old are you really?"

Scott paused in his struggle to get his shirt back on. "Eighteen." He smiled nervously.

"_Eighteen?_ And today's your birthday?"

He nodded, finishing the buttons, not noticing he'd got them lined up wrongly.

Marianne shook her head. "You're just a kid."

"Hey!" Despite the need to move quickly, Scott couldn't let that particular slight go unchallenged. "I've been with plenty of girls. And I didn't hear you complaining about anything."

"Oh, honey, you're not the only one lying about their age."

"You too? How old_ are_ you?"

She looked as though she didn't want to answer before shrugging. "Twenty-eight."

"Oh."

They looked at each other and laughed. But the smile was soon wiped from Scott's face as he heard heavy footsteps coming closer.

"Come on," Marianne called. She'd moved across to a small window. She had to stand on a box to reach it but she got it open and poked her head out. "You can get out here. If they don't actually catch you inside they can't do anything."

"You're wonderful," Scott told her. "I wish we'd had a bit longer."

Marianne sighed. "Just as well we didn't. Get yourself out of here."

It was a tight squeeze but Scott managed to get through the window. His shirt caught on a stray nail but he forced his way through, ignoring the ripping sound as he did so. A hundred dollar shirt ruined, he thought. Looked like his bad birthday luck was back with a vengeance. Not that it was his birthday anymore. As he glanced at his watch he saw it was past midnight.

He found himself in an alleyway where all the trash from the club was stored. Not the most salubrious of surroundings, but he didn't plan on staying there any length of time. One end of the alley was blocked by a tall, locked gate, but the other end was clear and he headed that way, only to be forced to dive behind a dumpster as a police car pulled up at the end. Now he was stuck.

Scott was forced to burrow behind a pile of trash bags as a policeman wandered down the alley. He must have done a good enough job of hiding himself, or else the man just didn't have his heart in it, because a minute or so later the policeman was back in his car. He didn't drive off, however, clearly having been told to guard the back of the club. Scott cursed him as he shifted to try to get comfortable, trying not to think about what might be in the bags. The smell was bad enough. His only comfort was that they at least provided some warmth and a little shelter from the rain which had begun to fall.

It took twenty minutes for the police car to drive off. Scott hesitated, but then when music could once again be heard pounding from the club, he dragged himself out into the alley and tried to tidy himself up a bit. He was damp and dirty and the smell of the trash bags was definitely going to linger. He got his shirt buttoned up properly, but it was damaged beyond repair. Not even Grandma could do anything with the tear across the front, he thought.

He wondered where Isaac was. If he'd been caught then John and Virgil might still be in trouble. It was then that his phone began to ring. Pulling it out of his pocket, wishing he'd got Marianne's number just in case she changed her mind about him, he was relieved to see Isaac's name flash up. Unless he was choosing Scott to make his one phone call to, chances were he hadn't been arrested.

"Where are you?" Isaac asked as soon as Scott answered.

"Outside," Scott said. "Where are you?"

"Looking for you. I thought you'd gone off with some girl."

"Yeah, well the raid put a stop to all that. What happened? Were they looking for us? If Brandon-"

"What's Brandon got to do with it?"

"I thought they were checking ID's."

"No, it was a drugs bust. Honestly, Scott, it was the coolest thing I've ever seen. They jumped on this guy, wrestled him to the floor..."

"So they weren't interested in anyone's ID?"

"No. Look, are you coming back in?"

Scott considered this for a minute. Taking a look down at himself he decided enough was enough. "No. As soon as Greg's back I'm going home."

"Where is Greg anyway? I haven't seen him or Rick."

Scott explained.

"Trust Rick. Look, I'm going back to Carlie's tonight. Her parents are away for the weekend. Why don't we go to that pizza place we saw on the way here? You can tell Greg where to meet you and we'll wait with you until he gets there."

"Okay." Scott couldn't see any problem. Something had to go right tonight and what harm could a pizza do anyone? He rounded the corner of the building to see Isaac standing there, a tall, blonde girl wrapped around him. At least someone was going to have a good time tonight, he thought, wondering why it couldn't be him. The fresh air had sobered him up and suddenly he felt very tired. Right now, all he wanted was his own bed and one of Grandma's famous hot chocolates with extra marshmallows and cream.

So much for Scott Tracy the rebel, he thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry to have taken so long with this, but it's finally finished. So much for my attempt to write a one-shot! Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed and alerted, it means a lot. Hope you enjoy the ending. Bee_

If Scott hadn't already texted Greg to tell him where to pick him up, he'd have been tempted to go somewhere else for food. The pizza place was packed and the lone waitress looked harassed and exhausted as she tried to make her way round all the tables. It was going to be a long wait for a table and even longer for a pizza by the look of it. Glancing across at Isaac and Carlie, Scott sighed. The pair were oblivious to their surroundings and they clearly weren't going to notice how long it took to get a seat. Scott found himself wondering if they'd be able to leave each other alone long enough to eat anything anyway. Of course, that made him think of Marianne and he cursed the bad luck that had plagued him lately.

Flinching as a man at the table nearby bellowed at the waitress, he wondered why people put up with it. A need for money, he supposed and felt a sudden gratitude for the fates which had allowed him not to worry about such things. Five minutes in this place and he was already feeling claustrophobic. The thought of doing this every night... he didn't know how the girl stood it.

As she came hurrying over with a quiet apology for the delay in taking the order, Scott realised that he knew her. Katie... Callie... no, _Cassie_, that was it. She went to his school, though she was in the year below his and he'd never spoken to her before. She caught his eye as she turned around and managed a frazzled smile and a shrug as if to say sorry for not stopping to chat, before scurrying back to the kitchen.

Scott wondered whether to make Cassie's life easier and leave, but one glance outside showed him that the torrential rain which had been threatening all night had finally arrived. A rumble of thunder decided the matter. He was staying put until Greg arrived.

Ten minutes later a free table appeared and he dashed across. Isaac and Carlie managed to break apart long enough to follow him, but they soon took up where they'd left off. Scott sighed and, despite the fact that he already knew what he wanted, began to read the menu carefully from start to finish.

It was another five minutes until Cassie arrived at the table, notepad in hand.

"Hi Scott. Sorry about the wait. It's a bit busy tonight."

"So I see. Don't worry, I'm waiting for a ride home anyway."

"Good night?" she asked, looking at him curiously. "You don't usually look so..."

She was clearly trying to be tactful. Scott looked down at his dishevelled clothes and smiled ruefully. "Let's just say I won't be forgetting this birthday in a hurry - however much I might want to. But what are you doing here? It's a bit far from home isn't it?"

"My uncle owns this place. I work here every weekend. It's-"

"Hey, honey, you want to cut the chatter and start serving? Some of us are waiting for our food." The couple at the next table were clearly unhappy. Cassie explained there was a problem in the kitchen, promising them she'd bring the order as soon as it was ready, then had to stand there murmuring apologies as the man ranted about the service he'd received. Finally he ran out of steam and she turned back to Scott.

"Do people always speak to you like that?" he asked.

"It's okay. He's probably drunk. It's always like this on a Friday night. Although there are usually a few more of us. My uncle's taken my aunt off to Kansas City for their anniversary. My cousin should be here but he slipped out half an hour ago to call his girlfriend. Haven't seen him since."

"You're on your own here?" Scott asked.

"I've got help in the kitchen, but we're a bit swamped right now."

This time it was the woman at the next table who cut in. "Talk to your boyfriend in your own time, why don't you? We want to order some drinks. _If_ it's not too much trouble..."

"I'd better get moving," Cassie said. "What did you want?"

"Come back in a few minutes, okay?" Scott watched her head across to the grumpy couple then glanced across at Isaac and Carlie. The pair hadn't separated since they'd sat down and Scott wondered how they were still managing to breathe.

"Isaac..." He wasn't surprised when his friend didn't even register his presence. "_Isaac!_" It was only his third attempt accompanied by a savage poke in the arm that got Isaac's attention.

"What? I'm busy."

"I can tell. Listen, why don't you just go back to Carlie's place? I'll be fine here."

"We couldn't leave you by yourself." Isaac had never sounded less convinced of anything.

"Oh, trust me, I'd rather be alone than have to watch the pair of you, especially when I think of what I missed out on earlier. Greg shouldn't be too much longer. Go on."

"Thanks, buddy." Isaac stood up, dragging Carlie to her feet. She waved happily at Scott as Isaac led her to the door.

"Leaving?" Cassie asked, returning with a tray of drinks for the next table.

"Forget the pizza," Scott said. "Why don't I give you a hand until my lift arrives?"

"Oh, Scott, I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Why? I can wait tables, Cassie. I've never done it before, but how hard can it be? Write down the orders then carry the food over, right? Come on, you look worn-out."

"It's not that. It's really sweet of you, but... Well, to be honest, the way you look right now you'd probably just scare the customers away." She leaned closer and sniffed. "You don't smell too good either. Tell you what, though, I could put you to work in the kitchen. The dishwasher's broken. That's part of the problem tonight. If you don't mind washing up, Tom can get on with filling the orders and I can handle things out here."

Scott looked down at himself and shrugged. "You might have a point. I don't know how long I can stay - my ride should be here in fifteen minutes or so, but until then I'm all yours."

Cassie smiled. "Do you know how many girls would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Yes, but how many of them would reject me and then make me wash up?" Scott couldn't help laughing at the way his birthday had turned out as he let Cassie lead him over to the kitchen. Two minutes later as he tied the strings of an apron around his waist and looked ruefully at the pair of rubber gloves Cassie gave him, he wondered why he hadn't kept his mouth shut.

Before he put the gloves on he checked his phone and found a message from Greg.

"Looks like you get me for a while longer. Greg's only just setting off." He didn't go on to explain that Greg had been held up by having to sneak Rick into his house then get him into bed without his parents finding out what state he was in.

"Ffiteen minutes, half an hour, whatever," Cassie said. "I'm glad of any help. Now then, those dishes..." She pointed at the sink which was piled high with plates and cutlery.

Scott pulled on the gloves and got to work. It didn't take long before the prospect of an executive office and a personal assistant to bring him coffee and, more importantly, to wash up afterwards, began to seem like his idea of heaven. He thought hard about his life as he worked, the monotony of the task surprisingly soothing.

He soon lost track of time. When finally there was a lull in the restaurant and all the dishes were done, he looked around, wondering what time it was. Surely Greg should have been there by now? A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that his friend should have arrived half an hour ago. Scott had had no idea it was so late. Pulling off his gloves he checked his phone. He'd missed a call, the sound of the running water and clattering plates clearly having masked the sound of his ringtone. Checking his voicemail he listened anxiously as Greg explained with a mixture of shame and embarrassment that he'd taken a corner on one of the country lanes a little too fast and skidded into a ditch. The car wasn't too badly damaged but it wasn't going anywhere else that night.

Scott called his friend, feeling partly responsible for what had happened. Why hadn't he gone back with Greg and Rick? It wasn't as if his dalliance with Marianne had matched his expectations anyway. He should have put his friends first...

"Scott, I've been trying to call you."

"I only just realised. You okay?"

"Yeah. My pride's hurt more than anything else. My brother's going to winch the car out tomorrow. He doesn't think it'll be too hard to fix. Look, I'm really sorry. Are you going to be okay? Can you go back with Isaac and that girl?"

Not likely, Scott thought. Actually, he had no idea how he was going to get back - he knew he didn't have enough money left for a cab. He supposed he'd have to call his father. Great - his first night out as an adult and he'd have to go crying to daddy to bail him out.

"Everything okay?" Cassie asked as Scott put his phone back into his pocket. "I'm surprised you're still here."

Scott explained what the problem was. "How are you getting home," he asked, hoping Cassie might be able to give him a lift.

"I stay with my uncle on Fridays," she said apologetically. "I'm working here again tomorrow."

"Oh. Guess I'll have to call my dad."

"He's going to love being woken up at this hour," Cassie said. "Tell you what, if you don't mind waiting another hour or so, my uncle Walt can take you back. He's a taxi driver. Works round here but lives a couple of miles from you. He always calls in for a slice of pizza when he finishes his shift. He won't mind some company on the drive home."

"You sure?" Scott asked. The lateness of the hour didn't bother him - any time would do as long as he could make it home under his own steam.

"I'm sure. Look, Jim's back - finally. Do you want to sit in the restaurant while you're waiting? You've earned a coffee if nothing else."

Scott smiled, looking sideways at the pile of plates she'd just brought in. "No, I think I'll carry on here. It's helping me think. A coffee would be good, though."

Cassie made the coffee then stood beside the sink as Scott worked. "So, what are you thinking about? I've been watching you whenever I've been in here and you've been miles away."

"Oh you know, the usual things. Who am I? What am I doing with my life?"

"I'd have thought that you of all people wouldn't have any problem answering those questions," Cassie laughed. "Or is that the problem?"

"Yeah. I woke up this morning realising that my whole life was already mapped out for me."

"Is that so bad?"

Scott shrugged. "No. It's a good life. It's just... Sometimes I just want to break free for a while, you know?"

Cassie nodded. "I think we all feel like that sometimes. You couldn't guess how many times I've been invited to a party on a Friday and had to turn it down. Sometimes when I'm getting ready for work I just want to run as far away in the other direction as I can."

"Don't you ever get a night off?"

"Not very often." She didn't elaborate and Scott thought he understood. He apparently wasn't the only one who had to put himself out for the sake of his family.

They chatted for a minute or two longer until Cassie's cousin came in to tell her she was needed back in the restaurant. Scott carried on with his work until she came back to tell him her uncle had arrived for his supper and was more than happy to give him a lift.

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Don't worry about it. You've done more than enough to repay me with all this." She waved a hand at the pile of dishes neatly stacked on the side. "You did a good job," she said.

"Years of training by a perfectionist grandmother," Scott smiled. He took off his gloves and apron. "Can't say I'll miss those."

"Probably not your best look," Cassie agreed. "It's almost as bad as this uniform."

"Oh I don't know," Scott said. "You look good in it."

She looked at him in surprise. "Oh. Thanks."

Scott looked back at her, a little surprised himself that the words had slipped out. She couldn't have been more of a contrast to Marianne, but that hadn't exactly worked out well. Maybe he could salvage something from this birthday after all. "Why don't we-"

An elderly man appeared in the doorway, waving his car keys and completely ruining the moment.

"If this young man wants a ride he'd better be ready to go."

"Great timing, Uncle Walt," Cassie muttered under her breath before turning to the man and smiling. "He's ready." She said goodbye to Scott cheerfully enough, though he could sense her reluctance. He felt the same way. Another promising moment with a girl interrupted - although in a very different way. Why did the world have it in for him right now?

"We'll finish this conversation another time," he promised as he followed the man out of the door.

Scott felt suddenly exhausted as he got into the car. He wanted nothing more than to get home, collapse into bed and sleep. He could have drifted off there and then, but Cassie's uncle didn't stop talking and so, too grateful for the lift to risk offending the driver, Scott forced himself to keep his eyes open and hold up his side of the conversation.

"My niece is a good girl," Uncle Walt commented.

Scott flinched, wondering if this was going to turn into the kind of conversation he'd often had with protective fathers. Fortunately, Uncle Walt didn't seem to want to take the conversation in that direction, instead telling Scott all about the girl and how hard she had to work in order to get the necessary funds together to go to college.

Once again Scott couldn't help feeling guilty. All the things other people had to strive so hard to achieve had been handed to him on a plate. Why on earth had he been feeling so resentful? He'd rather have his life than anyone else's, he knew that for certain now. Next time he found himself resenting the responsibilities placed on his shoulders, he'd remember how it felt to be hiding under a pile of trash bags in the cold and the rain. Tonight had been... interesting, that was for sure. He wasn't sure if it was the lateness of the hour or the fact that outside was wet and windy whereas the interior of the car was warm and cosy, but he suddenly found he was perfectly satisfied with things just the way they were.

Maybe his luck had finally changed, he thought.

It hadn't.

They were almost at the outskirts of town, just a mile or so from the Tracy house, when Uncle Walt rounded a corner only to suddenly slam on the brakes. A tree had come down and was blocking the road.

"Now what?" Scott asked as the driver turned on his radio to warn the authorities.

"Well, I can turn round and take the back road. Should have you home in another twenty minutes."

Scott thought for a moment. The back road was probably flooded after the torrential rain. It would more than likely take a lot longer than twenty minutes to get there. Then the man would have to find another route to his own house. He was looking at another hour's driving at least. Scott thought back to his earlier conversation with Greg at The Dungeon. If he hadn't put himself before his friend, he would have been safely home now and Greg's car wouldn't be stuck in a ditch. Of course then he wouldn't have met Cassie...

He looked out of the window. The rain had stopped and the wind had died down. He came to a decision and opened the door.

"Don't worry about it. It's not far to my house. I can walk it easily."

Uncle Walt protested but Scott insisted he'd be fine. "Really. I'll be home in ten minutes. Thanks for the lift. You drive carefully."

Uncle Walt looked up at the stormy clouds. "I'm not so sure, boy. The rain might hold off, but if it doesn't you're going to get soaked."

"I'll walk fast," Scott assured him. He clambered over the fallen tree. "Thanks again."

He waved at Walt as he turned the car round and disappeared into the distance. Wrapping his arms around himself as a protection against the cold wind - it didn't help much, but he hoped the walk would warm him up - he set off on his way.

As he walked he thought about Cassie. Her uncle's comments about her struggling to afford college had touched a nerve. He wished there was something he could do to help, but he knew, even after just a short time of talking to her, that she'd never accept money from him. Then a thought struck him. His father had been thinking about setting up a scholarship for college students, hoping to bring some new blood to his companies. Cassie was planning on studying Business - maybe she could be the first beneficiary. He'd suggest it next time he spoke to his father. It could be his first decision as a Tracy Industries' executive. For the second time that night he found himself enjoying his new-found power.

Then it started to rain and Scott felt like the world was against him once again.

He trudged on down the road then paused as he heard the sound of a car heading his way. The driver wouldn't be able to go much further, he thought, wondering if he should flag the car down, tell the occupants about the obstruction ahead and ask for a lift to his house. But it was past 2am and he wasn't too sure who was likely to be out at this time of night. Deciding to play it safe, he moved behind a tree and watched as the car approached, knowing the driver would have to turn around and come back this way. If they looked okay he'd stop them on their way back.

They weren't okay. Scott couldn't see inside the car but the sheer speed of the vehicle suggested the occupant wasn't the safest - or soberest - of drivers. Not that that was the worst of it. He'd only got a brief glimpse of the car, but the number plate - BRND1 - told him all he needed to know. There was no way he'd be asking for a ride from one of the people who'd ruined his night, especially not when he was out in the middle of nowhere in the early hours, soaking wet, with a torn shirt. He'd never hear the end of it from Brandon - or anyone else, either. It would be all round town by lunchtime, that was for sure. Charitably hoping that Brandon saw the tree before he crashed into it, Scott carried on walking.

When, a few minutes later, he heard the car coming back, he decided to repeat his earlier trick of hiding behind a tree. It would have been fine, if the tree he'd chosen hadn't been perched on the edge of a gully. In the darkness Scott didn't see the drop and before he knew it he found himself falling.

He rolled a few times before landing flat on his face at the bottom of the ditch. He didn't lie there for long, though, since he'd managed to land in a puddle. Pulling himself up, coughing and spluttering, he listened to the sounds of Brandon's car fading into the distance, unable to believe that yet another disaster had befallen him.

Finally, when he was sure it was safe to move again, he got to his feet. If he'd thought Brandon would ridicule him for his appearance before, it was nothing compared to what he'd say now - Scott was covered in mud from head to toe.

Gingerly making his way back to the road - he'd twisted his ankle in the fall, as if he hadn't suffered enough already - Scott limped on towards his house. At least the driving rain washed some of the mud away, though he dreaded to think what his grandmother would say when she went to wash his clothes. He wondered whether he should just throw out his jeans along with his torn shirt - anything to avoid a lecture from Grandma! Still, at least she wouldn't actually see the state he'd come home in.

Or would she? When Scott approached his house, shivering violently and with his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he stopped at the gate and gazed up at the dark windows. There wasn't even a lamp on, his father clearly having trusted him not to come home in such a state of inebriation that he'd need one. Pushing aside the momentary annoyance that his father believed he'd behave even on his eighteenth birthday, he limped on up the drive, pulling off his shoes as he got to the porch.

It was only when he searched his pockets that he realised he'd lost his key. It must have happened when he'd fallen. It had been there when he'd started walking - he'd checked. But now his pocket was torn, the key was gone - and Scott had no way of getting in without waking up the whole house.

Debating whether to just get it over with and bang on the door, Scott thought he'd have one quick look round the back. Maybe, just maybe, something would go right for him and the back door would be open. Even a window would do; he was sure he could squeeze himself through - after all, it wouldn't be the first time that night.

As he rounded the side of the house he stopped, blinking in surprise for a moment, telling himself not to get his hopes up too much. There was a light on in Virgil's room. Wondering how on earth that was possible - the kid might put up an almighty fight about going to bed but once he was there he wouldn't wake up again without the aid of something either very loud, very cold or very wet - Scott cast his eyes around for a small stone which he could throw up. But before he could do so, the window opened and his brother leaned out.

"Scott?" he whispered. "Is that you?"

Ignoring the temptation to point out that if he'd been a burglar it probably wasn't a good idea to engage in conversation, Scott stepped out of the shadows.

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered back. "I-"

"What happened to you?"

"Long story. Will you-"

"Are you wet?"

"Yeah. Look, Virg-"

"You're freezing."

"I know. I need you to-"

"Is that mud?"

"_Yes!_ Virg, I've lost my key. Can you...?"

Virgil pulled his head back in. A few minutes later Scott heard the bolts on the back door being drawn back and the sound of the key turning. A second later the door opened and Virgil was staring at him with an expression even Grandma would have been hard-pressed to match.

"Are you drunk?" he asked primly.

"No. But I'm cold, wet and miserable, so would you please just let me in?"

Virgil stood aside and let him through, turning back to relock the door as Scott muttered his thanks.

"What are you doing up anyway?" he asked.

"Painting. And waiting for you."

"Why?"

"You were late. I was worried."

"Are Dad and Grandma...?"

"No, they're asleep."

"You going to tell them about this?"

"No. Don't you get it Scott? I was worried. What if something had happened to you?"

"Well it didn't." Scott had no intention of telling his little brother about the night's events.

"You sure?" Virgil clearly wasn't convinced, raising an eyebrow as he looked intently at his brother. Scott had a horrible feeling the boy was registering every single detail about his appearance, ready to immortalise it in a picture later.

"Virg, I had to walk the last mile. A tree came down and the car couldn't get past it. I fell in a ditch and lost my key. All that's hurt is my pride. Okay?"

"And your ankle. I saw you limping."

"Yeah. Look, I really need to get changed. Thanks for looking out for me. I appreciate it, kid." He'd nearly reached the door before Virgil spoke again.

"There won't be anyone waiting up for you when you go away."

"Virg..." Scott gave up the fight. It was just too late - or maybe too early. Deciding that Virgil was less likely to continue the argument once they were upstairs and had to be careful not to disturb their grandmother, he turned and walked up the stairs to his room. He'd expected Virgil to follow him and it was with some relief that he realised his brother had stayed down in the kitchen.

He made his way into his room and looked around him. It was good to be home. Shedding his wet clothes, he towelled himself dry and got ready for bed. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself under the covers and sleep for the next fourteen hours.

Just as he reached his bed the door opened.

Virgil.

Scott groaned inwardly and wondered how long it would take him to get rid of his brother. When he turned round, however, he felt differently. Virgil stood there with two mugs in his hand. Scott hardly dared believe his eyes - or the smell which drifted over to him. Hot chocolate!

He bounded over to his brother and grabbed one of the mugs. "Virg, I love you!"

"Okay..." Virgil said, backing away a little uncertainly. "You sure you're not drunk?"

"No. Just thirsty." He frowned suddenly. "Grandma didn't hear you, did she? She's going to kill me for coming in this late."

Virgil shook his head. "Don't think so. She'd have come out if she had."

"Good." Scott's stomach chose that moment to let out an almighty growl. He wished he'd managed to snatch a slice of pizza before leaving the restaurant.

"Hungry?" Virgil asked. Without waiting for an answer, he passed the second mug to his brother. "Be right back," he said, disappearing back down the stairs.

Scott closed the door and sat down in the chair by the window. Taking a sip of his drink he considered it for a moment, then shrugged and took another mouthful. It wasn't up to his grandmother's standard, but at least the kid had tried. It was warm, that was the main thing, and he sat back and let himself relax.

He tensed up again when he heard a stair creak as Virgil returned, followed by the one thing he really didn't want to hear - the sound of his grandmother's door opening.

"Scott?"

He flinched. Midnight snacks were strictly forbidden, let alone 3am ones. Virgil was going to be in real trouble now.

"No, Grandma, just me."

"Virgil? What are you doing up?"

"I was thirsty. Just getting a glass of water."

"Are you sick?" Like Scott, Grandma couldn't understand why Virgil was awake, immediately thinking the worst.

"No, Grandma, I'm fine." This was followed by a whiny, "_Get off!_" which Scott knew would have been pre-empted by the application of a cold hand to the forehead.

"Well, you just go back to sleep." Grandma was apparently satisfied. "Is Scott back? I was listening out for him but I must have fallen asleep."

"He came back ages ago," Virgil told her. "I heard him. Looks like he made himself some hot chocolate before he came up - the kitchen's in a right state."

Scott groaned. So much for Virgil's thoughtfulness with the hot chocolate - his brother wasn't the tidiest in the kitchen and Scott hated to think what kind of mess he'd made. He'd be on washing up duty for the next week now. As if he hadn't had enough of that already...

Outside, Grandma was still interrogating her middle grandson. "Virgil, are you sure you're alright? It's really not like you to be up at this hour."

"I'm fine, honest." There came the sound of an exaggerated yawn. "I'm really tired, Grandma. Can I go back to bed now?"

"Alright. Goodnight, sweetie."

"'Night, Grandma."

Scott heard the door shut again and breathed a sigh of relief. A second later his own door opened and Virgil appeared, an enormous grin on his face.

"That was close," he whispered, holding out a glass of water to his brother. "In case you get a hangover," he explained. "John told me to put one out for you before I went to bed but I forgot."

"For the last time, Virg, I'm not drunk."

"Why not?"

Scott was taken aback for a moment. He debated whether or not to give his brother an edited version of the night's events then decided against it. Instead he picked up Virgil's mug and held it out to him as his brother flung himself into his usual seat - a giant cushion next to Scott's chair.

"I thought you'd gone to get some food," Scott said.

"Oh yeah." Virgil pulled a couple of chocolate bars out of his pocket. "Here you go."

Scott couldn't have asked for anything better right then. Within seconds the first of the bars was gone. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Virgil looking hopeful, broke off half of the second bar and passed it over before devouring the rest.

They sipped their hot chocolate companionably. Making sure Virgil had finished his, Scott suddenly reached out and smacked his brother across the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Helping Johnny with those ID's... staying up past your bedtime... lying to Grandma... blaming me for making a mess of the kitchen... Honestly, Virg, you used to be such a good kid. What happened?"

Virgil looked genuinely hurt. "I did it all for you, Scott. John said you wanted to have some fun on your birthday. I'm not completely stupid, you know - I don't want to get involved in whatever else he's up to. As for the rest, do you want me to go and confess to Grandma?"

"No," Scott sighed. "Just behave yourself from now on."

He got up and limped across to the bed, throwing himself down onto the mattress before he could register Virgil's frantic cry:

"Scott, don't!"

Something dug painfully into his back for a moment before crumpling under his weight and he let out a yelp of pain.

"What the...?" Scott got back up and pulled back the covers. Virgil came to stand beside him and the pair of them looked at the battered package.

"It's your real present from Gordon and Alan," Virgil told him. "They wanted to surprise you."

"They did that alright," Scott said ruefully, rubbing his back. "What is it?"

"You mean, 'what _was_ it?'," Virgil told him, gingerly picking up the package and handing it to his brother.

Scott pulled one of the ripped edges apart. "A model plane."

"They put it together themselves. They spent weeks on it, Scott. They wouldn't even let me help with the painting."

"Make me feel bad, why don't you," Scott said. He held it out to his brother. "Can you fix it, Virg?"

There was a tap at the door and both boys froze.

"Scott, is that you? Are you alright?"

Virgil cast Scott a panicked look before throwing down the model plane and diving under the bed. Scott jumped into the bed himself, pulling the covers up to his chin and turning off the lamp. Just in time, as the door opened and his grandmother poked her head in.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, Grandma. Sorry, I just had a bad dream, I guess. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Is something wrong?" she asked in concern. "It's not like you to have nightmares."

Scott smiled. "I'm fine. Honest."

"You should stay clear of the drink, dear," Grandma said. "It obviously doesn't agree with you."

"Yeah, guess so," Scott agreed. "'Night, Grandma."

"Goodnight, darling."

The door closed. Scott held his breath until he heard the gentle click of Grandma's door closing. Then he relaxed, getting up and helping Virgil extricate himself from under the bed.

"Who's lying to Grandma now, then?"

"Shut up, Virg."

Virgil sat himself down on the bed and picked up the model.

"Can you mend it?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, I think so." He yawned. "I'll do it in the morning." He lay down and closed his eyes.

"Virgil?"

"Mmm?"

"This is my bed. Find your own."

"It's a nice bed. Comfy..."

"So's your's." He poked his brother in the ribs. "Come on, Virg, move." He took hold of Virgil's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Get to your room."

"Tired!" Even Alan would have been impressed by the whine in Virgil's voice at that moment.

"Me too." Scott gave up, slung his brother over his shoulders and carried him to the door. He was tempted to dump him outside, but knowing Virgil he'd just curl up and go to sleep on the floor, so he took him into his own room, pulling back the covers and dropping him on the bed.

"'No wonder you don't want to sleep in here," he said. "How do you stand the smell of that paint?"

"'S nice."

"Right..." Scott moved across to the easel to see what Virgil had been working on - a moonlit sky on a stormy night. "Oh, so this is what you wanted all that black paint for?"

"Mmm."

"Only used one shade in the end though, huh?"

Virgil snapped awake at this. "One? I used eight!"

_Interesting_, Scott thought. It looked as though he could add criticism of an artwork to the very small list of things that would get Virgil to wake up quickly.

"Eight? I don't see it, Virg."

Virgil dragged himself out of bed and stomped over to his brother, pointing out the different shades and shaking his head when Scott just looked bewildered.

"Guess I just don't have the eye for this kind of thing," he said. "You can really see eight shades of black out there?"

Virgil glanced out of the window. "Nine now."

Scott followed his gaze. "Nope, just the one." He let his eyes drift round the room as Virgil made his way back to his bed. His gaze rested on a copy of the picture which had been on Marianne's tee shirt. She'd have been able to appreciate Virgil's painting, he thought.

"The girl I met tonight would love you," he said.

"Really?" The glimmer of interest made Scott laugh. Just a short while ago the merest suggestion of a girlfriend would have elicited exactly the same disgusted response from Virgil as did the thought of homework, spinach and playing the piano for Grandma's church group.

"She's a bit old for you, maybe," he said, moving towards the door. "Sleep well, Virg."

"Night, Scott," Virgil said, snuggling under the covers.

"Hey," Scott said, suddenly. "Want to come out for a drive tomorrow? Just you and me?"

Virgil's look of delight said it all. "Sure. Where to?"

"Oh, just out and about. We could stop for pizza on the way home."

And just maybe, if Cassie needed an extra pair of hands, his brother could do the washing up whilst Scott got to know the girl a little better. Not that he'd mention that little detail, of course...

Shutting the door gently behind him, not wanting to risk waking Grandma, he wandered down the hallway to his own room, happy to be back in the place he felt most secure.

His eyes fell on the envelope containing the Tracy Industries' documents which was lying on his desk and he thought for a moment. All the things that had bothered him that morning seemed unimportant now. He didn't have it so bad really, he thought. It wasn't as if life wouldn't have something unexpected to throw at him. His future couldn't be that inflexible, surely?

He paused to look out of the window for a moment before pulling the curtains and heading towards his bed with a smile. _No black at all, Virg, _he thought. _Not any more._


End file.
